


Fuzzy Peaches

by trainmaker



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bands, M/M, Mutual Pining, POV Multiple, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 11:54:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29933028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trainmaker/pseuds/trainmaker
Summary: Tubbo's band plays at weddings but he's always wanted to sing songs of his own. Ranboo is his best friend and the subject of most of his lyrics.
Relationships: Ranboo/Toby Smith | Tubbo
Comments: 28
Kudos: 145





	Fuzzy Peaches

Tubbo crooned out the lyrics to "Sugar" by the Archies, eyes half-closed as he banged out the familiar melody on his keyboard. It was his favourite part of weddings when the ties were loosened and the heels were ditched. There was something about watching people make fools out of themselves on the dance-floor, united in their drunken confidence. Wilbur's guitar strumming was frantic and exciting and Tommy was keeping time with a smashing bit of drums. 

In particular, he liked watching the married couple. The brides were clinging to each other, belting out the syrupy sweet lyrics in the way that only obscenely in-love people do. Tubbo grinned around the lyrics and carried on.

After a few more sappy crowd-pleasers, the wedding planner stopped by to let them know it was time to wind-down. He glanced down at his phone and scrolled through their arsenal of slow-songs. Wilbur tottered up behind him, sipping gratefully at his requisite glass of complimentary wine. "Let's do Adele. Bitches love some Adele." 

"Bitches do love some Adele." Tubbo conferred and glanced at Tommy. "Thoughts?"

"So disrespectful. But yes, bitches love some Adele."

So they cycled through Adele, Bruno Mars and Train until the candles burned low and half the guests had retired to their rooms. The brides stuck it out to the end, teetering back and forth fondly until a member of their wedding party led them off. 

After the audience had left, was when the real fun came out, Tubbo thought. All the over-worked, young staff shucked off their ties and vests and finished off the empty glasses. They nicked cupcakes and hors d'oeuvres and counted their tips. Tubbo tipped a sip of rum and coke back and continued vulturing the leftovers before the cleaning staff got into gear.

He spotted an unopened can of Sprite and nabbed it. When he finally found Ranboo, he was vacuuming up a pile of unidentifiable crumbs. Tubbo passed the cold can over to his friend, pleased by the little smile he got. "Working so hard already. That's my boy." Tubbo slung an arm around his middle and leaned, letting some of the night's exhaustion slide off him. His voice was hoarse, a side-effect of singing over the crowd. 

"I'm tired. Table twelve kept dropping their cutlery. Totally on purpose." Ranboo flicked open the can and took a long sip. His eyes fluttered shut as he drank and Tubbo's throat felt drier than it already was. 

"It was probably on purpose. Tryna get you to bend over." Tubbo poked his friend's middle and darted away. There was a slice of untouched lemon cake at the closest table. He picked it up with his bare hand and took a greedy bite. "Mmm...Fucking love lemon." He sighed around his mouthful. 

"You like any sweets. Literally all of them." Ranboo muttered and set the empty can down. He picked up the hand vacuum again, kneeling at the mess. 

"Mhm," Tubbo said. Ranboo's hair was off his face for once, pinned back at the ear with a bobby-pin. His manager must have finally put her foot down about how long his hair was getting. Tubbo was on the fence. He liked it long. Liked when it got in his face when he was singing along in the driver's seat. But the bobby-pin gave him uninhibited access to his sharp features. The hazy grey of his eyes and heavy slice of his brows. Tubbo licked the crumbs off his lips and wiped his hands on his trousers. He retrieved from his pocket a beat-up notebook the colour of slate. 

"Song idea?" Ranboo looked up at him.

"Yeah," Tubbo hummed, grinning. It was a little funny how oblivious his friend could be. Just a foot away, Tubbo was waxing poetic about his eyes and the taste of lemon-lime Sprite, and Ranboo just kept tidying. Uninterested and satisfied to keep him company. Tubbo often wondered if his unattainability was what made him so attractive. There were other factors of course, but there was something so exhilarating about reading a love song to its subject and receiving total obliviousness in return.

Ranboo stood, vacuum aloft as he admired the clean carpet. "Nice, nice." He said. "Think we can ditch now?"

"Yeah, I'll just tell Niki I'm losing my voice and you're taking care of me."

"How does one take care of a lost voice?" Ranboo looped their arms together as they went in search of their manager.

"Find it." Tubbo laughed.

\--

Ranboo gripped the steering wheel with both hands, fighting the urge to do something reckless like gun the gas. A wild grin was streaked his face and music poured out of his tinny car speakers. Tubbo was in the passenger seat, legs stretched across the dash and head thrown back as he belted along. The sun cast his face in gold, his hair flying in the wind. The windows were rolled down, insecurity forgotten as Tubbo's voice echoed across the high-way. Traffic moved slow, dripping like the noon-day sun as they merged on and off.

They were driving for the sake of driving. For the feeling of music and wind and wheels. Ranboo glanced over at Tubbo, the way his eyes crinkled up at the edges when he sang a lyric he liked. His mouth rolled over the words, expert and practised. Ranboo didn't have the memory for lyrics, but he liked when Tubbo sang them almost more than any originals. His voice was like a bird-call, sort of high and warbly. 

The song ended and Tubbo caught his breath between laughter. He braced himself on Ranboo's seat, pressing his forehead into his shoulder for a second as he came down from it. "God. That's good. It's good, isn't it?" He said and Ranboo's shoulder tingled in his wake.

"Really good." He agreed. "Best when you sing it, though." 

"I want to make a song like that someday."

"You'd have to play something other than covers," Ranboo said lightly. 

Tubbo scoffed and queued up the next song. "They're not ready yet."

"You could show me sometime." 

Tubbo's finger hovered over the play button for a second before he jammed it down. "Maybe."

\--

Tubbo's garage housed their band equipment as well as an assortment of out-of-place objects. A life-size plaster zebra he'd made for a nativity play in primary, a weight set his dad had bought for him when he'd started music ("so that he'd look the part of a rockstar") and milk crates full of records. He, Tommy and Wilbur had picked most of them up from estate sales and at discount stores. They'd pick through for the ones they could resell, the ones they liked and the ones with nice art. The rest lay here, stacked into make-shift coffee tables, stools and footrests. Ranboo was sitting on a crate of old disco records, elbows on his knees and chin in hand. He had a way of staring, intensely but without really looking at you. As if you were just the lucky creature to be in the right place at the right time.

Tubbo felt the full heat of it as he plonked out a shitty melody on his keyboard with one hand. The other hand was shoved in a bag of fuzzy peaches, keeping his mind from combusting. Performing love songs in front of scary future mothers-in-law and bridezillas was a piece of cake in comparison. Wilbur was behind him, flicking through his little slate coloured journal.

He hadn't said anything about the subject matter, but every so often he would lift his head and look at Ranboo and that was enough. Tommy was on the worn suede sofa, scratching his back with one drumstick and waving the other like a conductor's baton. "Sounds shit if I'm honest, Tubbo." He said and Tubbo couldn't hold back a laugh. At least he wouldn't sugar-coat it.

Ranboo leaned back to defend him but Tubbo threw a gummy at him. "He's right. I'm not good at writing originals."

"Well," Wilbur said. "That's not true. You've  _ written _ plenty. It's the actual music you're having trouble with." He held a hand out and Tubbo dropped a candy in obligingly. 

Ranboo had scoured the cement for the stray gummy and was chewing thoughtfully. "Can I have a read?"

Wilbur held onto the book and glanced at Tubbo. "Uhm." 

"Yep. Sure. No reason you couldn't read them. None at all." Tubbo grabbed the book and dropped it in his lap as inconspicuously as he could manage. "They're all just made up, so y'know. Don't read into them too much."

Ranboo fixed him with that stare again before flipping to the first page. "This is just row, row, row your boat with cusswords." He murmured, brow furrowing as he flicked to the next page. His expression shifted then, only for a moment, as he read.

"Sounds like a hit, big man." Tommy crowed. "Row, row, row your boat gently down the fucking stream."

"That's got terrible rhythm." Wilbur sighed. "And you're our drummer. God help us. Better to do row, row, row your boat down the fucking stream."

"Right. Right." Tubbo waved a hand, dismissing the conversation. "What do you think?"

Ranboo handed the book back and nodded. "They're good. Sappy, but what can we expect from a wedding singer?"

"Too right!" Tommy laughed.

\--

Ranboo shouldered the trash bag, glad for the double-duty plastic. It reeked of wine and the novelty sushi bar. Tubbo trailed after him and ducked to get the side-door. It was their second wedding that weekend and they were both low on energy. Tubbo's voice had edged from pretty-raspy to unhealthy-raspy halfway through the Father-Daughter dance and Ranboo was itching to get him home. 

He tossed it easily into the dumpster and took the moment to enjoy the cool air. Tubbo stood beside him, sagging visibly in his uniform. It was a white collared shirt, now half-way open and rolled up at the sleeves. The jacket was gone and the slacks were nothing special. Still, he looked good. Ranboo was too tired to deny himself this observation, no matter how it sat uncomfortably on the precipice of friendship. 

"We booked a gig next Friday. No wedding." Tubbo smiled tiredly at him. 

"No wedding. What kind of gig?"

"We're gonna do some originals. Covers too I think, but it's just a bar show." Tubbo looked down at his hands, uncommonly shy. 

"I'll be there," Ranboo said. "Save a song for me and all that."

"That won't be a problem." Tubbo patted his shoulder and walked towards the open door. "Let's get out of here, Honey-bun."

Ranboo would have followed him anywhere that night.

\--

Tubbo wished for some of the comforts of a wedding. He wanted the complimentary wine that he never needed to drink, just something for his nerves. He wanted the easy, familiar crowd. The setlist he knew by heart. He swallowed deeply as he stared out across the dark bar. It was mostly familiar faces. People from the local scene, friends, friends of friends. They were piled around little tables with pints and chips. 

Wilbur clasped a hand on his shoulder. "You'll be fine. I wouldn't have got us a gig if we sucked."

Which was true. Wilbur was prideful enough not to perform anything half-baked. He chewed on the vote of confidence and searched the crowd further. A straggler shuffled in and Tubbo recognized the shaggy head of hair. Ranboo. He grinned.

"One, two, three." Tommy timed them in and they erupted in sound. Wilbur's whole body jolted with the song, thrashing excitedly. The melodies had come easier once Ranboo had left, no longer self-conscious. Tubbo banged out the first bits on his keyboard and then leaned into the mic.

"You're so sad baby, You know I'm listening."

Ranboo's face was invisible in the dark, but Tubbo focused all his energy on reaching him. 

"Hunny Bunny, you're the light of my life." He belted, striking the keys. "Hunny Bunny, I'll be with you all the time!"

\--

It was over too soon. There was something intense and addicting about pouring your soul out in a setlist. He was still partial to a Bruno Mars cover, but he'd had his taste of it now. He chugged water, letting it drip down and soak his already sweaty t-shirt. Tommy patted his back and he nearly choked. 

"Fucking brilliant, we were. Like real motherfucking musicians." Tommy grinned, face split by it. He was red all over, exerted and feverish. 

Wilbur followed behind him. "We were always real musicians. Now we're respectable ones." He grinned. "Good stuff Tubbo."

Tubbo matched their smiles and slung his arms around his bandmates. "Was kinda something, wasn't it?"

"Yeah." Wilbur breathed. His fingers twitched on Tubbo's shoulder and he pulled away. "But fuck if I don't need a smoke. I'm buzzing."

"Oh, well I'll-"

"Tommy you need to take a piss," Wilbur added.

"No?"

"Yes, you do." And then Wilbur was dragging Tommy by his collar right out of the back room. Tubbo debated whether he should be annoyed at being left alone or glad not to be included in their nonsense. He flopped down on the wide leather armchair and nursed the rest of his water-bottle. And then, Ranboo poked his head through the door.

Tubbo had been counting on at least a day between singing his damn heart out and seeing him. It was a lot to ask though, and somehow, seeing him, he wanted to take it back. How could he have waited when he was here now, bright and real and grinning. Tubbo ushered him in. "C'mere you little groupie."

Ranboo slid onto the arm-rest and he smelled of lavender and pub smell. "You were amazing." He said. His hair was messed up and Tubbo pushed it off his forehead.

"Did you like the new songs?" Tubbo asked. Nerves bubbled in his stomach. It was a half dozen years of friendship on the line and a thousand more songs he'd scrapped. 

"Yeah. Whoever they're for is really special, huh?"

Tubbo baulked, dropping his hand from Ranboo's face. "You're kidding me."

"I mean it, they're good."

"They're for you," Tubbo admitted, quiet and sure. Ranboo fixed him with the stare that Tubbo had come to adore. "The whole book. Didn't you notice me writing in them all the time around you?"

"But, I just thought you were inspired a lot." Ranboo's voice was full of awe, soft.

"I am. 'Cause I like you so damn much. God, you're dumb." Tubbo shifted to sit but Ranboo put both hands on his shoulders and pushed him back. He was so close, Tubbo could pick out the stitching on his jacket. His grey eyes were dark and full and Tubbo met them uneasily.

"I am. But I really, really like you too." Tubbo could hear the smile creeping into Ranboo's voice.

"Oh."

Ranboo's face split into a grin and he nosed closer to Tubbo, sharing breath. "Kiss me." He said. Tubbo's hands wound around his neck and he crashed their lips together. His mouth tasted like sour candies. Ranboo returned the kiss, fingers digging into his sides until Tubbo leaned closer. He pressed against him, feeling the tempo of his heart. Ranboo's mouth dragged against his own, parting to draw a shaky breath. 

"Write a song about  _ that _ ," Ranboo whispered.

**Author's Note:**

> the song tubbo sings is hunny bunny by hockey dad https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zW99t-VbC7U
> 
> please leave me comments and requests etc :)) i had fun writing this and i had to cut it down a lot coz i wanted to make it really in depth.


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